


The Whole Truth

by Quilly



Series: Snake Home, or Snome, [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Crowley has Trauma from the Fall (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Family discussion, Heaven & Hell, Kid Fic, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:33:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26888185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quilly/pseuds/Quilly
Summary: In which a history is told, at long last and in fuller detail, to the snabies.A Wiggleverse fic.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Snake Home, or Snome, [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1591507
Comments: 4
Kudos: 75
Collections: Wiggleverse





	The Whole Truth

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [In Which a Story Is Told](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21383929) by [OlwenDylluan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlwenDylluan/pseuds/OlwenDylluan). 



> Listen, I had some extra ficlets stockpiled from Snektember that accumulated out of nowhere XD Should be one more thing going up soon, but in the meantime, take this. Directly inspired by OlwenDylluan's story In Which A Story Is Told, which I recommend reading for context. This felt important enough to go on its own rather than lumping it in as a chapter with one of the compilation fics; wahoo and all that, Wiggleverse chums!

The morning was cold and grey. Crowley and Aziraphale sat on their neatly-made bed side by side, hands on their knees except where Aziraphale was holding Crowley’s. The house was quiet and warm. Crowley’s hands were shaking.

“Are you certain?” Aziraphale asked, voice reflecting the early dawn mood. “We don’t have to.”

“We do,” Crowley rasped. “I’m ready. Ready as I’ll ever be, at any rate.”

“Shall I fetch the children?” Aziraphale asked. It was a long moment before Crowley gave a singular jerk of the head in affirmative. Aziraphale snapped his fingers.

The children—for no matter their size, no matter that they were firmly entering their adolescence so as to keep up with their human contemporaries, they would always be children to Aziraphale—wandered in in fits and starts. Rosa was first, of course, having outgrown the need for sleep, though apparently not the compulsion to wear a nightgown at the appropriate hour. Next came Datura and Angelica, carrying Clem between them and half-stumbling as they yawned. Junior was last, as Aziraphale knew he would be, rubbing sleep from his barely-open eyes and collapsing into a puddle of gangly limbs in the final available spot on Crowley and Aziraphale’s bed, now occupied by his siblings as his parents stood to the side. Once the children were settled, Aziraphale gently guided Crowley to sit in his customary spot on his side of the bed, and walked around to sit in his own. As soon as he was seated, Clem wound up the bed and spooled himself in both his parents’ laps, which Aziraphale found agreeable and Crowley didn’t seem to object to, so perhaps this would go alright after all.

“W’s goin’ on?” Junior garbled, clearly falling asleep again as he sat.

“Children,” Aziraphale said, “your father and I think it’s time we told you about…about who we used to be.”

The tension in the room ramped up immediately alongside the general sense of alertness. Junior’s posture shot upright, and Angelica’s eyes widened.

“I know some of you might have learned a few things here and there from outside sources,” Aziraphale continued, “but…well. Let’s just say Father and I want to set the record straight. Give you all the facts, if you should want them.”

Five sets of eyes stared between him and Crowley.

“Okay, Azirafather,” Datura said after a long, long moment.

“Much of this will sound familiar,” Aziraphale said, “but I want you all to listen and understand. This is…not easy. For us to talk about. But it’s important.”

“You lot know I love your questions,” Crowley piped up unexpectedly, his voice rusty, “but this time…this time, try to save ‘em until the end, alright?”

Five heads nodded. Aziraphale glanced at Crowley, who was petting Clem’s head but seemed unable to focus his eyes on anything in particular. Aziraphale shifted so he was pressed in a warm line against Crowley’s side, his arm around him as tightly as he dared.

“In the beginning,” Aziraphale said, tearing his eyes away from Crowley, “there was God, who made the angels to help Her create the universe. The length of time this took is irrelevant, as Time hadn’t been invented yet, but when it was appropriate, God created the Earth and all the creatures therein. It seemed…that is, it was presented to us, the Host of Angels, that the Great Plan was about to be put into motion, and humanity was to be watched over and guided towards Good.”

“It wasn’t presented, exactly,” Crowley said. “What we were told—or, what I was told—was to mind our own business and follow orders. There was this…other angel. Lucifer. Always had his gang of buddies around him, always seemed to be having the most fun, and I had a free afternoon, so I hung around to see what he had to say about the whole thing.” Crowley took a deep breath. “What he had to say made more sense to me. He questioned the Great Plan, wondered why we weren’t let in on all the details, said mortal creatures shouldn’t have been a higher priority than immortal ones, we got here first, yada yada yada. Some of it was over my head or I didn’t care about. Me, I just thought he looked cool, and I wanted to look cool, too.

“Eventually, though,” Crowley continued, “eventually…there was talk of throwing God out on Her ear, or at least giving Her the finger and doing our own thing. Next thing I know, there’s all of us, chucked out of Heaven and doing a million-light-year freestyle dive into—into Hell. Or what was about to be Hell. The Basement.” Crowley shuddered, and his eyes squeezed shut, and Aziraphale tightened his arm around Crowley’s shoulders. Crowley shuddered for a long time, long enough that Clem nuzzled into Crowley’s thigh with his head and began making the tiniest of distressed hisses. Aziraphale gently drew Clem’s head out of Crowley’s lap and onto his own, where with his free hand he petted Clem’s scales. He shot quick, hopefully comforting smiles at the rest of the children, who looked stricken at Crowley’s state.

“Landed in boiling sulfur,” Crowley choked. “Some of us—some of us made the transition easier than others.” He cleared his throat and opened his eyes, and smiled weakly at the children. “Thought I made out alright, myself. Devilish good looks and all.”

“Black certainly becomes you,” Aziraphale said softly, and Crowley’s mouth twitched a little more strongly.

“Your father and I,” Aziraphale said once Crowley’s shuddering had lessened in intensity, “were then assigned to Earth as agents, where we found more in common with each other than with our distant superiors, but distant did not mean absent, I’m afraid.”

“Heaven is dedicated to the Greater Good,” Crowley said, his voice a little stronger, “and they decide what that Greater Good is based on their own ideas about what God wants. They have their own spokesperson for Her and if She speaks directly to anyone—apparently you lot excepted, once in a blue moon—we don’t know of it, so Heaven goes on as if it’s always right.”

“Hell, on the other hand, is dedicated to the Greater Bad,” Aziraphale said. “Their perceived job is to cause as much trouble and chaos and disruption as possible. As Heaven sees itself as the ultimate Good, Hell sees itself as the ultimate Evil. These two sides, though differing in aesthetics and ideology, are really more similar to each other than they will ever know.”

“Both disdain Earth and humans in general, both think they’re the powerhouse of the universe, both are convinced they’d win in an all-out war against each other, and neither one wants anything to do with things like happiness and free will,” Crowley intoned. At some point his hand had snuck up to entangle with Aziraphale’s. “They weren’t…they weren’t very healthy to be around.”

“Hell was…horrible, to your father,” Aziraphale said gently. “Torture and misery were the order of the day. Humiliation, pain, and fear are their favorite tools to keep their denizens in line.”

“Not like Heaven is much better, they just put a brighter face on it,” Crowley mumbled. “Downright nasty to your angel dad, Heaven was. Never treated him as he should’ve been. Didn’t like him enjoying sweets or books. Thought he was an odd duck, all around.”

“And I think your father had Hell fooled, for quite some time,” Aziraphale quirked a smile that felt forced. “We each had our own coping mechanisms, for dealing with Head Office. Father’s was to take credit for things humans had done on their own and to posture as the biggest, baddest demon in Hell.”

“Azirafather’s was to make a big fuss about propriety and refusal and talking in circles around every issue while begging for what he wanted with his eyes,” Crowley said, and squeezed Aziraphale’s fingers. “No end of trouble, Azirafather’s batting eyelashes.”

“As if you weren’t looking for the opportunity to spoil me,” Aziraphale smiled.

“Well, Heaven certainly wasn’t going to, and nobody in Hell was even half worth indulging,” Crowley smirked. They must have lost some time, because one of the children—Datura, maybe—made a pointed throat-clearing noise.

“Right. Anyway. Where were we?” Crowley coughed.

“And roughly seven years ago,” Aziraphale said, turning his focus back onto the children, “Armageddon was supposed to happen. But it didn’t. Heaven and Hell blamed Father and I—a little disproportionately, in hindsight—”

“Well, we did bamboozle Gabriel and Beelzebub, then encouraged the Antichrist to tell Satan to shove it,” Crowley shrugged. “And that was after I melted Ligur and you flew disembodied out of Heaven and possessed Madam Tracy.”

“Is that why she’s our aunt?” Junior asked, and Crowley laughed as Aziraphale turned pink.

“Sort of,” Aziraphale muttered. “It…it would be a bit rude to just lose touch with someone whose body you inhabited, after all.”

“I can count on one hand the number of demons who kept in touch with people they possessed, angel, and I’ll give you a hint, that’s because no fingers at all would be held up—”

“Well, I’m not a demon, am I?” Aziraphale sniffed, and squeezed Crowley’s shoulders when his smile took on a pained cast. “I’m sorry, my dear, I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“No, you’re not wrong,” Crowley said, and cleared his throat again. “Anyway. Long story short, Heaven and Hell tried to execute us for Armageddon not going off the way they planned, but it backfired on them. Didn’t plan on us having both foresight and some cleverness.”

“And by foresight you mean a prophecy from Anathema’s witch ancestor,” Aziraphale said, and smiled at Rosa’s small gasp. “Hard to burn an angel with hellfire when it’s actually a demon in disguise, and rather difficult to melt a demon with holy water when it’s actually an angel.”

“Since then we’ve been left alone, for the most part,” Crowley said. “And…and that’s the whole story. Well, not the whole story, we’d be here for days if we told you every tiny detail, but those are the—the broad strokes, anyway. Um. The End.”

“Any questions?” Aziraphale asked, and was unsurprised at the raised hands (and tail) that followed. “Angelica?”

“Does it still hurt?” Angelica asked. “Wherever you landed when you Fell, Father?”

“Don’t recall the exact position, spawn,” Crowley shrugged. “Not like it mattered, it was just…burning. For a bit. No, it doesn’t hurt anymore, hasn’t for a long, long while.”

“How can Heaven claim to be Good when things they’ve done hurt people?” Rosa asked.

“Well, the Greater Good doesn’t mean everybody gets a happy ending, darling,” Aziraphale said. “It means that the risk and loss calculated in a certain course of action weigh in Good’s favor in the end. Of course, as we know, Good doesn’t always mean Right, nor does Right always mean Good. Heaven has a very different idea of what those mean altogether.”

 _You once said they would come take us away from you if they knew about us,_ Clem said, returning his head to Crowley’s lap. _Is that still true?_

Aziraphale hesitated, looking to Crowley.

“Yeah,” Crowley said eventually, petting Clem’s head again. “Yeah, that’s probably still true. But we have precautions in place and I don’t think Heaven or Hell are all that interested in Azirafather and I anymore. Tends to happen when you quit the way we did.”

“Did your wings used to be white?” Datura asked. “Like Azirafather’s?”

“Don’t rightly recall,” Crowley said, in a casual voice Aziraphale knew all too well. “Like mine as they are now, at any rate.”

“We know Father used to make stars,” Junior said, “but, Azirafather, what did you do?”

“Oh, I wasn’t anything special,” Aziraphale said. “I was a Principality, you see. I was a soldier, a guardian. Never much fit right to me, but I went through training like any other Principality, and they put me on guard duty, like I was made to do.”

“And he was excellent at it,” Crowley said.

“I let you sneak right into the Garden of Eden under my nose, my dear, I don’t think that qualifies me as excellent,” Aziraphale pointed out.

“Sure it does. You missed me, because I’m so sly and cunning and all,” Crowley grinned, “but you gave them your flaming sword, angel, that counts for something.”

“So that part of Azirafather’s story was true?” Rosa asked, and the ensuing pause was tense and fraught as before. Aziraphale winced, and Crowley sighed.

“What you lot have to understand is that when you girls came home with that story about the princess and the garden,” Crowley said, “I wasn’t…I wasn’t ready, then, to tell you lot about what had happened to me yet. It sprung up on me without any time to prepare. The story that Azirafather told you was true…from a certain perspective. It wasn’t the entire truth.”

“Because Azirafather didn’t want us to think less of you,” Rosa said quietly. Aziraphale’s lip trembled as his eyes prickled unexpectedly. Crowley seemed to be having trouble, himself. “Can you tell us that story, then, Father? From your perspective?”

“We won’t think less of you,” Junior said, and in answer Datura put their hand on Crowley’s ankle and squeezed. Clem laid his head on Crowley’s chest, his tongue flicking against Crowley’s chin. Angelica and Rosa were both shaking their heads. Crowley closed his eyes and took deep breaths. Aziraphale had to turn off his breathing function entirely to stop the infernal wibbling his corporation was insistent upon.

“Before I met your angel dad,” Crowley croaked, “I was in Hell. Back then it was just full of hurt, angry angels who weren’t used to being called demons yet. They told me to get up there, to where the humans were, and cause some trouble, and so I did. I got up there, in Eden, and I took a look around, and it seemed to me that the best course of action to cause some trouble like I was told was to tell the humans to eat the apples off the tree that God had forbidden. I figured, yeah, that should ruffle some feathers. Eating fruit off the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, sure, that should count for something, right?

“Didn’t know it would get them thrown out,” Crowley said, opening his eyes and scrubbing at them. “Not sure if I would’ve changed anything if I had known. Still seems like an overreaction to me. First offense and all.”

“Getting thrown out of the Garden for a first offense…getting thrown out of Heaven for a first offense…why’s God so touchy, anyway?” Junior frowned.

“I think,” Aziraphale said as Crowley made a sound somewhere between a laugh, a sob, and a strangled croak, “I think it’s less about first offenses and more about…change. About being put in places more suitable to the changes they went through, in places where they can continue to change and grow. Humanity couldn’t have choices and spread and create wonderful things if Adam and Eve had stayed in the Garden. And Father…Father wouldn’t have become the demon I love if he had remained an angel in Heaven. No compassion, no curiosity, no mischief.” Aziraphale took one of Crowley’s hands in both of his. “No…all of you,” he said softly.

“Heaven and Hell both did a number on us, spawn,” Crowley said gruffly, flexing his fingers within Aziraphale’s. “They’re still dangerous and powerful. But. They aren’t a part of our lives, and we didn’t want the threat of them hanging over you all as you grew up. Are growing up. And after you’re done growing.”

“Any other questions?” Aziraphale asked.

 _When’s breakfast?_ Clem asked, and Aziraphale smiled as Crowley burst out laughing.

“Soon as you want it, I suppose,” Crowley grinned. “Love you spawn.”

“We love you, Father,” Rosa said, and forthwith the children dogpiled onto him, with enough arms reaching out to include Aziraphale in the embrace.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” Crowley barked, and when no one moved, he hissed. “No breakfast for anyone still in my bubble by the time I count to three!”

The children cleared out, giggling, and Aziraphale remained, holding Crowley’s hand.

“Oh, dear, no breakfast for me, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale sighed. “Whatever shall I do?”

“Suffer, I suppose,” Crowley leered, and didn’t object at all when Aziraphale leaned in and kissed him. “They…took that all well.”

“I’m sure they’ll ask more questions as they process what they heard,” Aziraphale murmured. “You did wonderfully, darling.”

“Feels better than just leaving them to piece together what they’ve been able to hear from us and others,” Crowley shrugged. “Should’ve done it a long time ago, but. Well.”

“Not before you were ready,” Aziraphale said, and kissed Crowley again, a little longer. “Come on. Breakfast will certainly get made without us and I don’t want Angelica to misuse the vegetable peeler again.”

“In her defense, onions are definitely a vegetable,” Crowley said, and held Aziraphale’s hand all the way to the kitchen.


End file.
